


slow fall home

by ellispark



Series: Codas [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x23 coda, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Temporary Character Death, and the author's love letter to the barns of supernatural, the long love affair of cas and dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 05:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11201709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellispark/pseuds/ellispark
Summary: A story of Cas and Dean and meeting in barns.





	slow fall home

Castiel stands outside a barn.

If asked, he could recite the exact latitude and longitude of where he stands. He could break every sigil etched on the walls inside. He could snap his fingers and watch the building fall down before him.

He does none of that. He simply begins to walk.

His landing wasn’t perfect; his vessel still feels... off. The barn door slams inward without his giving much thought to it, the lights crackle and burst around him without his notice. He’s only looking at the man at the end, the one with the raised gun in his hands and the raised handprint on his shoulder, hidden just beneath his t-shirt.

Dean Winchester shoots him in the chest, and Castiel feels nothing. 

Dean Winchester stabs him through his vessel’s heart, and he simply pulls away the blade, dropping it on the ground.

“Who are you?” Dean asks, and Castiel detects the note of fear there. He doesn’t care if this man is afraid. He answers with his name. Dean asks what he is, and he tells the truth, because what else is there to say? Isn’t it obvious?

“I’m an angel of the Lord.”

“Get the hell out of here,” Dean says. “There’s no such thing.”

He’s put off somewhat by Dean’s disbelief, by his combative nature. This is a man rescued from the Pit on the orders of Heaven. He should be filled with faith, brimming to overflowing with gratitude to God above and the angel before him.

Castiel begins to think the “Yeah, thanks for that” which preceded the stabbing was not sincere.

But he doesn’t need a heartfelt thank you. He doesn’t need Dean to look at him in awe, though he wants it enough to show off his wings. What Castiel does need is for this man to listen to him, to accept that he has a purpose. A purpose from Heaven, a destiny to fulfill. He’s a soldier in the war to come.

Dean asks, “Why would an angel rescue me from Hell?” and Castiel begins to think they’re making progress.

“Good things do happen, Dean.” That too should be obvious. The man stands before Castiel whole and alive, when mere days before he was flayed and torn, rotted to the core, black smoke starting to froth at the edges of his soul, bloody blade in hand, the product of four decades in hell.

“Not in my experience,” Dean says, with a clear edge to his voice that Castiel recognizes. He’s been briefed on this characteristic of Dean Winchester, the self-hatred that lives deep within his bones, not born there, but nurtured by a difficult childhood, thriving under the heavy hand of his father and the heavy weight of a hunter’s life.

He believes he’s expendable.

Dean doesn’t think he deserves to be saved, and Castiel doesn’t bother to tell him that he’s not really here to save him. He’s here to move Dean from the flames of Hell to the battlefield on Earth, to facilitate Dean’s transition to warrior of the Lord.

This is a mission. Dean is a mission. If he’s turning out to be more difficult than Castiel thought, well, he’ll discover some way to persuade him to be more amenable. Bring up Dean’s father, maybe. Threaten to throw him back into the Pit, possibly. It doesn’t matter what the tactic is, so long as complete compliance is achieved eventually.

“Why’d you do it?” Dean asks again.

“Because God commanded it,” Castiel responds. “Because we have work for you.”

Then he flies. He’ll come back to Dean when he needs him.

///

Cas stands inside a barn.

When asked if he’s good, he says, “I guess so.” He can recall the burning acid in his stomach, the fear as his body’s organs turned to rot, the choking sensation of bile pouring out of his mouth. He can still see the terror in the Winchesters’ faces; the self-hatred, the belief of responsibility in Dean’s.

He tries not to think of that. Dean says, “Let’s go home,” and so he begins to walk. 

The healing came suddenly, but his body still feels... off. Dean pushes the barn door outward, and Cas slowly walks through it. Dean’s looking at him, a certain sadness in his eyes mingling with relief, and Cas doesn’t know what to say. He resists the urge to touch Dean’s shoulder. He’s not dying anymore.

He told Dean he loved him, in front of everyone, and Dean looked away.

Funny how love feels akin to a stab through the heart, just the way every cliché human love song claims.

“Are you —” Dean starts to ask him something, and Cas hears the lingering fear in his voice. Sam and Mary walk around them to the Impala and Cas waits in silence for Dean to finish his question, but the other man just sighs. Cas imagines the question to be something along the lines of _can you drive yourself home?_

“My grace is fine,” Cas says. He smiles weakly. “I’m still an angel. I’m all right.”

“Like hell,” Dean says, suddenly combative. “Don’t give me that crap. You almost died.”

Cas startles at the vehemence of this statement, the anger in Dean’s eyes. He’s never quite sure what to say to Dean, the right words to string together to avoid his ire. Cas _is_ all right. He’s still standing, still useful.

Cas begins to think that perhaps Dean didn’t want Cas to confess his love while dying, to add another weight to Dean’s chest.

But he doesn’t need love in return, he tells himself. Cas doesn’t need Dean to tell him sweet things, to drive him home. It’s enough that he cares, enough that he asked Cas back to the bunker. Maybe he’ll allow Cas to stay for a few days, until his body stops trembling in ways he can’t seem to control, until he’s back on his feet. Back to being useful for the battles to come.

Dean says, “Cas. C’mon, man, talk to me,” and Cas wonders what Dean wants him to say.

“I can drive myself back, Dean, it’s fine.” Dean looks at him oddly, almost like he’s hurt. “Look, I’m whole. No more goo.” He tries to smile again, and Dean still refuses to smile back. “I’m healed.”

“Whatever, man,” Dean says, with a clear edge to his voice that Castiel recognizes. He still doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong. He worried Dean, he knows, but he’s healed now. He can still be of use. He doesn’t need to be coddled like the child he never was.

He’s not useless.

Dean turns to walk back to the Impala, and Cas doesn’t bother to call out “You’re welcome to ride with me,” though he wants to. Cas’s mission is to watch over the Winchesters. He doesn’t want Dean to have to worry, to think he needs to be the one to watch over Cas. Cas is a warrior. He’s used to battle wounds. 

But this, watching Dean walk away, this feels like a particularly deep wound, a wound not caused by any lance. It’s turning out to be more difficult than Cas thought, to not expect Dean to say _something._ To not have it acknowledged that yes, Cas may love all of the Winchesters, but that first admission belonged to Dean and Dean alone. 

As he reaches his car, Dean turns and asks, “Are you following us back?”

“I don’t know,” Cas responds, feeling lost and adrift. “I... I have some work I need to do, looking for Kelly. You can call me the next time you have a case.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. He gets in the car, and the Winchesters drive away. Cas stands outside the barn, wondering when he’ll be needed again.

///

Cas wakes in a barn.

He doesn’t know where he is. He sees the sigils on the walls, but they swim before his eyes. He waves a hand in front of his face, shocked to see his fingers intact and whole, flesh not yet withered off the bone. He tries to sit up.

He can’t. If he wanted to walk out of this place, he’s not sure he could.

His body shakes, his vision tilts. Cas feels so... off. He hears a door slamming, and he tries to turn his head. The lights in this barn blur together, but he can see a man moving toward him. Cas lies still on the floor and wonders if he should feel afraid.

Then the face of Dean Winchester forms out of the blurred lights, kneeling next to him, and Cas starts to cry, though he doesn’t quite understand why.

Dean reaches out to hold his face, breathlessly saying, “Cas, oh thank god,” and Cas leans into the touch, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You’re alive,” Dean says, voice wavering, and Cas can hear the relief. He’s not sure what happened, why they’re here, and Dean asks him a question that only rings in his ears. He tries to speak, but his mouth feels dry and his words clog up his throat.

“I’m —“ he manages, thinking that _alive_ sits on the tip of that sentence. He remembers Lucifer, remembers the blade sticking out of his chest, now.

“The hell spawn gave us a spell,” Dean says, still sounding choked. “He said it would bring you back, and I... God, I begged and begged him for it. It took so long, I didn’t think you would ever...”

He’s shocked to see Dean crying now as well, his usual smirking countenance replaced by a torrent of tears. Cas should be trying to comfort him, but his lungs are swelling as they take in air, trying to breathe past the tightness in his chest, choked by this display of grief finally ended. His heart overflows with love for the man before him.

Cas feels like he’s beginning to see the real Dean, the Dean who would walk up to Lucifer’s son, the most powerful being on the planet, and ask for Cas’s life.

And he needs to touch Dean. He reaches out to run his hand through his friend’s hair, and Dean looks at him, smiling faintly through tears. Cas needs to know everything, what he’s missed, what the spell was that brought him back, but right now his only purpose is to make Dean Winchester smile again.

Dean asks with a shaky voice, “Do you recognize where we are?” and Cas moves his head stiffly, looking around. "He — Jack, he said you'd come back to the start."

He smiles. It’s so obvious, now. “Good things do happen, Dean,” he recalls aloud as he takes in the barn’s gray walls, covered in wards, some of the lights still busted out. Dean smiles, too, a beautiful sight, pure and perfect.

“I guess sometimes they do,” Dean says, something in his voice that Cas recognizes, a love that Dean may never be able to put words to, but Cas understands it now. Dean is more difficult to read than most, but he loves deeply, to his bones, and he only tries to bring back those he desperately needs in his life.

He’s not expendable. Not to Dean. 

Cas spent all this time not sure he deserved to be saved, and Dean saved him anyway. He runs his hand through Dean’s hair, and Dean leans in toward him, sighing quietly when their lips touch softly, reverently, completing a transition from antagonists to allies to friends to... now. And something more. Something new.

This is a mission. Dean is a mission. He turned out to mean everything to Cas — difficult, obstinate, frustrating, but also caring, courageous and extraordinary beyond words. Cas will discover how to love this man properly with the new life he’s been given. They’ll find a way to work past their hindrances. They’ll find a way to live together. It doesn’t matter how, just that Cas is sure in this moment he’s never wanted anything more than he wants Dean.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Dean says when he pulls away, hands still cradling Cas’s face. “I mean it this time, Cas.”

“I won’t,” Cas says softly. “Because you commanded it.”

And they’re there when they need each other.


End file.
